Resurrection Men
by Ember Nickel
Summary: Making someone disappear takes nothing. Bringing them back, that takes everything. [Yuletide 2017 gift for applebutter.]


Many thanks to skazka for betaing!

* * *

After Julia's death Alfred was lost for words, even with his twin. Especially with his twin, where he for so long had had no need of speech, because they had always known each other's movements, where each other would be, wearing the face and the name they passed between them. To know that there was a truth Freddy knew, had shared and entrusted only to a woman who was hidden beneath the earth, stung as bitterly as any vengeance Angier could vow.

"I need to leave," Alfred finally said. "One of us needs to leave."

"And you're willing to have me stay here?" Freddy challenged him. _After all this, you still trust me?_

Alfred thought of meeting Sarah, of what she and he might build together, of how Freddy seemed to see her as merely an excuse to practice the double act. "It's not going to be easy for either of us starting out alone. You said it yourself; someone needs to take risks. You always were the braver innovator." _Angier is dedicated, laboring at his own craft. But if he lashes out, I don't want to bear the blame for choices I never made._

"Do you have enough resources to disappear for a while?" _And enough bravery?_

"Enough to reach New York. From there, either I'll get an audience and can perform under another name, or if I'm refused, at least can earn enough to make my way back." _It would be easy enough to do simple tricks alone, even if I decided I never wanted to return. But what am I as half of a pair?_

"Suppose it's faster than your mad letters," Freddy assented. _You'd better come back. What am I without our trick?_

So bearing misplaced blame and unforged hope, fledgling emotions either of which could be snuffed out at a moment's notice, Alfred journeyed across the sea. His fellow passengers were easily moved by simple tricks, and as routine as they were for him, they passed the time until he could reach the shore. He was grateful for making landfall—magic tricks were no cure for seasickness.

At times, the replies to his letters had been detailed and full of scientific jargon. At others, they had been scant and vague. In all, they told him little more than which address to seek out. But once Alfred glimpsed Nikola Tesla's laboratory, he knew if anyone could give him guidance, it was the creator of the marvels that stood before him. After Tesla's first handshake conducted harmless but numerous volts of electricity, Alfred worked up the nerve to speak.

"You must be highly sought-after," he said, looking around the room some more. A metallic egg spun slowly on a far table.

"Yes and no," Tesla merely replied. "These businessmen, they are not easy to work with."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Alfred. "I didn't come here because I want to make money, although I will stay as long as I must to pay you what is fair."

Tesla smiled. "You are here for a wireless light, perhaps?"

"Not that sort of light. I hear your electric machines can revivify the dead."

Tesla turned somber. "Many people are afraid of change. When they do not understand new technologies, such as my own, they are prone to exaggerate some of their effects."

"You are very humble about your achievements. But do you deny it?"

"Do you see this wire?" Tesla picked up a simple piece of thin metal.

"Of course."

"Some people think of scientific progress as like this marvelous conductor. We begin, we discover, we create, and then—voila!—we have a new invention whose behavior we perfectly understand and can control. But science is a bit more like, hmm." He stood and rose to a silver machine and flipped a switch. Immediately, bright purple sparks shot out in every direction from the sphere on top. "So. Nonlinear, not predictable, even if we have a rough concept of the principles that underlie it."

"I see."

"Such a machine, I can build. But I cannot pledge that it will work as you intend, nor that you ought consider it without much care."

"I'll deliberate with twice the soul of any man before testing whatever you use," Alfred vowed. "But I must see this done."

Angier was set on avenging him. The only way to preempt him was, not to win his favor, but to stop him out of spite by doing him such a kindness that Angier could never hope to get even.

"So be it," said Tesla.

Almost as soon as he began another assistantship Alfred was, while alone, still of two minds about not having Freddy accompany him. On the one hand, it was one less mouth to feed while starting all over in a foreign city at the bottom of the pay scale, trying to scrimp enough money to put aside for Tesla's machine. On the other, one of them could have been doing odd jobs to make the rent. He contented himself with sending letters back, being cautious to send them under Tesla's name in case the mail was being watched for some reason. Freddy made no reply.

Tesla volunteered to show him a prototype after several months. A tight golden helix extended into a plain metal strand. "You would place this end on the chest," he explained, "then step away from the body before you connect that end to a running current."

Alfred nodded. "Here's what I've made so far."

Tesla accepted his envelope with gratitude. "Would you like to keep the prototype for the present?"

"That shouldn't be necessary," Alfred said. "I certainly don't plan to be, ah, testing it any time soon."

"Very well. I should warn you, I have been experimenting with some curious photographs of the human anatomy, nothing related to your commission, but it may be some time before I can return to making this my first priority."

"If you'd _prefer_ if I took it with me, I'm willing."

"That might be most appropriate, yes."

For the sake of Tesla's scruples, Alfred hauled the machine back to his cramped apartment. It was heavier than it appeared at first glance, but he'd lugged around heavier props, and he thought nothing of it. He expected to make the return trip in no time and let Tesla continue on, while he toiled away at raising funds.

Instead, disaster struck. The next day, A fire caught in the basement of Tesla's building, and no miraculous machinations could save his workshop from collapsing. Invention piled upon experiment, notes piled on records, models piled on demonstrations crashed down story after story. When Alfred caught up with him the next day, Tesla could only pace in silent despair.

"I'm going home," Alfred finally said. "I don't want to trouble you any longer. You've been extremely gracious."

Tesla, stuttering, spoke. "All I lost—all that has broken my spirits—only things of matter. Take care, Alfred Borden."

"I will," he said.

He blended in on the voyage back, heart racing if he imagined anyone coming across his cargo, and that was enough of a trick. Perhaps it was for the best he had not advanced too far, developed yet another line of props and gear that would be wastes to abandon and pities to lose. His treasure alone caused him enough strain.

But wedged in a trunk, it followed him back to the drab flat where Freddy still resided. Thoughts of the future were cast aside when Alfred noticed the glove on his brother's hand. "What happened to you?"

Freddy pulled it off to reveal a pair of missing fingers. "Tried a bullet catch."

Alfred raised his eyebrows. It wasn't like he could claim to have told Freddy so, but all the same…

"Angier was in the audience," Freddy filled in.

"Right." Alfred shook his head. "You should have written."

"Are we going to do this or what?" Freddy nodded down at the trunk. "Didn't want you to preemptively chop off your fingers before we decided whether we were going to try the new trick."

Alfred grimaced. "Thoughtful. Tesla says he hasn't tested it yet, there was a fire..."

"Your wizard plays around with wires and burns his house down?"

"Not like that. It was an accident. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

"Then it should be fine. Yes?"

"I suppose," Alfred agreed, and explained what Tesla had told him.

"Sounds straightforward."

"We don't have to go through with it."

"You think it might not work?"

"Of course not. I just—if you want me to join in your sacrifice, I would not stand aside." Alfred raised his uninjured hand.

"Let me think on it," said Freddy, with what passed for reflection. "You've just returned, there's no need to be hasty."

"Yes. Do you have any makeup? I'd like to reacquaint myself with the city tomorrow, if I'm seen..."

Freddy indicated a thin closet, and Alfred found again their disguising materials. "Thank you. It's good to be home."

* * *

There was little art to unearthing the dead.

Force, yes. Stealth, to be sure. But no particular trick, not those days.

Alfred had gone to bed still raving about the wonders of Tesla's workshop. Electric lights! Power to make one's hair stand on end, literally and figuratively! Some day, if the inventor could only start over with a more reliable stream of funding, perhaps entire cities might be lit by his vision.

Freddy supposed that the pile of unread letters contained more of the same enthusiasm. He was less impressed. If every street corner was illuminated below a glare more vivid and nearer than the moon, it would mean more than the end of livelihoods for the lamplighters; it would mean an intrusion on hallowed grounds. Not that Freddy cared about the sentimentality, but there were some places that called out for privacy, at any hour of the day or night.

He had not been to Julia's burial. That had been Alfred's part to play, the concerned friend. But of course he had known where it was. They had no secrets from each other, not about matters as trivial as geography.

Alfred would wait too long, he told himself, and talk himself out of the entire point of their separation. If he was to attempt the coil's power, he had to act.

So he dug quickly, trying to blend into the shadows or at least look like he was there for a purpose. Prying the coffin open took some doing, but he'd learned the skill from an aging ingeneur years before. Freddy didn't want to think about where _he'd_ learned it.

He shoved the dirt back into the gaping hole with speed, itching to fly. Angier would surely not pay a memorial visit any time soon, would he? But the man was impulsive, emotional; there was no telling with him.

Loading Julia's body into the sack he'd brought along was no hardship. What might have worried Freddy was finding some place to store it in the suddenly-crowded flat without Alfred noticing. But he'd used his solitude to construct a hidden wall he was fairly confident even his landlord didn't know or care about, practice for when he had a stage of his own, and there was just enough room to deposit the sack behind the kitchen. If Alfred's sleep was turbulent, well, that always happened the first night back in one's old bed.

Alfred departed the next morning, disguise and all, in search of familiarity in the city he had once known. By day, Freddy could see the putridity that had already begun to claim Julia's corpse. Would the current reverse that, he wondered? Her eyes were closed, obscuring both panic and trust.

He made his way to Deptford; in the back of the railyard, wire from the new power stations ran along wild currents where new lines had not yet been built. Extricating the body from the sack, he again felt relieved that he had come alone. Having the first thing he explained to Julia be that there were really two Alfred Bordens might be too much of a shock to bear upon her revival.

Setting the helix down amid the decay, Freddy stepped back to string the device up to the live wire. For a moment, there was silence, and he feared the return with useless weights in tow.

Then the body that had been Julia flinched, and set the metal contraption aside.

She silently rose to her feet, having lost none of the elegant balance that had made her the consummate performer. Her black dress fluttered as she reached her full height, blinking in the room's shadows. Her mouth remained closed, as if she'd swallowed words like water over the years, unable to escape her. "Julia?" Freddy said. "It's all right, you're safe now. It's me, it's Borden."

Her eyes roved about the room, lighting on his gloved hand.

"It's been a while," he said. "I'm all right. Angier misses you. You know where you live, you want to go find him?"

She stepped forward and grazed his glove. Freddy took a step back. "Julia," he repeated. "I'm sorry." It had always been her place to stand and look talented, silent below Milton's thundering voice, but he was at once desperate to hear her speak. Even fawning for Angier's drivel would be a relief.

Still she pressed forward, silent, and Freddy began to back away. Did she appreciate nothing he had done, only walk as if bringing revenge in her mute wake? He left the hidden corners of the railyard, and she followed him one step at a time, her garments far-better preserved than her moving corpse.

He stayed to back alleys as much for his sake than her own. It was part of the trade to distract people's attention, divert their eyes from the implausible feats he was showing them, but not even he wanted to handle too many questions about why he was being trailed by a woman whose flesh was decaying. He felt himself drifting to the east out of no reason other than the circuitous paths leading him on, and before he could plot a course onward, the Deptford Creek opened up before him.

It would be cold, he told himself, but not deep. And who was to say that a strong wave might not knock a finger or two off Julia's flimsy hand? She would be his unfortunate twin, perhaps, let Alfred try what he would.

He charged into the creek and shivered, not entirely due to the chill. But when he turned back, he noticed that Julia had ceased her pursuit. She stared forward at him, her gaze barely alive.

Did she dread the water, some part of her still remembering her death? He wanted to console her, but he dared not invite her to follow after until he knew she was in her right mind. "Speak," he urged. "It has not been so long, that you cannot return. You are missed."

But his words met unmoving ears, and he swam across the creek unsure how long he could wait for her before moving on, or attempting to retrieve the device from the railyard. Alfred was no fool, and his absence would not go unnoticed long.

* * *

"For those of you not versed in my forthcoming display," Robert warned, "I must advise that it should not be undertaken without training from a qualified practitioner, and I'm sorry to say I'm unable to provide such careful instruction at the present time. However, there should be no risks at all from spectating."

He dragged a length of coiled rope onto the stage, then began to clap loudly at it. In moments, the rope as a tangled mass was gone. Instead, it—or something very nearly like it—began to levitate into the thin air, climbing towards the top of the stage until it stood straight up under the lights. The audience cooed politely.

Robert clapped again, and the rope spiraled down in an instant. He paced over to it, clenching the end, making a few imperceptible adjustments.

"Even inert matter can be compelled to move under my will," he declared. "Behold!" That time, when the rope rose into the air, he ascended with it, hovering and waving to the crowd from atop the theater.

"In the future," he announced, "such matters may be commonplace, and we shall think nothing of gliding upon the air and calling strings to our command. But until then, I shall lead the way."

The rope sank down more slowly the second time, bearing his weight, and he stepped down onto the stage as soon as his legs reached it, to a wave of applause.

"The view is truly impressive from up there," he said. "I saw, for instance, that the woman in the end of the third row—yes, you—appears to have misplaced her handkerchief."

The woman mentioned rummaged through her pockets, pulling out a handkerchief. "Er," she said. "I'm very sorry..."

"Would you be so kind as to return it to the man behind you? I believe he has yours."

The audience laughed in approval, as the pair exchanged handkerchiefs. The woman seemed pleased and satisfied to have her own returned to her, but the man in the fourth row glowered. Had he not been reunited with his own? Had the trick gone wrong? Or had he seen through it somehow? Robert couldn't recognize him, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that the guest looked unpleasantly familiar.

Rattled, but trying to ignore it, Robert did what he could to complete the act. It passed without further incident, and he and Cutter stowed the props in the back of the theater.

"I'm still keeping an eye out for an assistant," Cutter said. "It's not just balance and artistry, you want someone who can keep your secrets. Work with plants if they have to, watch the crowd—"

"Anyone can use plants," Robert cut him off. "And speaking of watching the crowd, did you see that mark in the fourth row? He knew something was up, and took off as soon as he could."

"Not everyone is going to be impressed. Some people are going to be trying to figure out how you did it, scrutinizing everything you touch..."

"What if it's Borden in disguise? Coming to destroy my show?"

"As if he has time to show himself at a place like this?" Cutter waved at the back of the curtains in the elegant theater. "Last you told me he struggled to fill far dingier dives than these."

"He does. Which means he'd be looking for a leg up."

Cutter shook his head, and they climbed into his coach to ride back. It was a habit of theirs to ride together after some of the later shows, first dropping Robert off at the flat he'd earned in the older theater district, before Cutter rode on to the newer entertainment streets where he'd mentored dozens of performers through the years. He talked idly about some of the assistants he was still meeting with and quickly ruling out. "Not a quick gimmick, not someone who's going to try to overshadow you, but someone ideally who's willing to put in the time to fathom the trick and not just go through the motions..."

Robert let the words flow over him, watching the darkening streets roll by, until he nearly jumped in the coach. "There, across the way! Was that Borden?"

"I didn't see," Cutter pointed out, "I was driving. Same man from the show?"

"Not the same get-up, this was him just as he is."

"The hand and all?"

"I asked you first."

"I don't think someone could have gone to your show in disguise, then lost his disguise in time to get ahead of you on the road."

"Speak for yourself," Robert said, "we took a long time packing those props away, he'd have gotten the switch down to a science."

"And to what end?"

"The man's crazed, ask him!"

Cutter drove on with a new intensity in his grip of the reins. Robert stared at the road, restless, and as night fell, yelled "Stop!"

Cutter pulled back, the horses whinnying in dismay. "Something on the road?"

"Something off it," said Robert, nodding at a figure plodding alongside the river. "Strike me blind if it isn't Julia, I'd know her anywhere."

"You've had a long day," Cutter began.

"Don't you start with me, I know perfectly well she shouldn't be alive. But I'll escape from this coach if you go on without me."

"Robert," Cutter said, but finally stepped down and walked across to the river. "See, it's—oh. Oh! Are, are you quite all right?"

The dark shape reached for Cutter's hand, and he fell silent. Then he turned back towards the coach.

Robert exited, at first in hopes to greet Cutter in impossible joy all the faster. Had he not stopped speaking in the embarrassment of being proven wrong, dumbstruck by some miracle? "It's her, yes?" he shouted, as the other form drew near to Cutter.

Cutter said nothing.

"Cutter?"

Silence met him. He had already mourned Julia once, and the grief had nearly broken him. Leaping onto the horse and seizing the reins, Robert took flight.

* * *

Alfred stopped to purchase a bottle of gin on his way home from the theater. If Freddy wanted to proceed with the amputation, he'd rather be as numb as possible. He bought a pair of gloves, too; it was hard to find a store that sold just _one_ glove, and he didn't want to ask too many questions.

Perhaps, he let himself believe, his brother would have spent the day reading through his letters and better coming to understand Tesla's discoveries. Perhaps he would be busy constructing a new trick instead. What he was not prepared for was Freddy, exhausted but still wild-eyed, tearing through the cupboards. "There you are! We need to move, now."

"What is it?" Alfred asked.

"Something's gone wrong."

"Something?"

"The machine, it doesn't—work, exactly."

"You?" Alfred almost had to laugh. "Thought to test it?"

"Test—Alfred, we couldn't be seen together, you agree, I did what I had to do."

"What you had to do? Don't start!"

"Julia, or something very near to her, is...walking, near the river. She does not speak, and I think she fears it. But she looks as one dead."

"You didn't try it again?" Alfred asked. _You tried without me?_

"Try again? She got up and chased me!"

"And you couldn't stop her?"

"How could I stop a corpse? It was all I could do to get away."

"Then why do we need to move?"

Freddy sighed. "It may be mad, but one of us needs to see Angier."

"Why?"

"Because once he hears that there's a dead woman wandering around he'll want to know the secret. And when he realizes there _is_ no trick—well, he'll chalk it up to me soon enough, and I've suffered enough at his hands. Maybe he can get her to talk; no wonder she doesn't want anything to do with me."

"All right," said Alfred. "But I'm coming with you."

"You stay here. Something else could go wrong."

"We're bringing the dead to life. The least we can tell him is that there are two of us."

Freddy couldn't argue with that, instead turning back to the cupboard and sweeping a few props into a bag.

"Now really the best time to practice a bullet catch?" asked Alfred, washing his face in the sink.

"I'm not looking for a catch," said Freddy, "I'm looking for a backup plan."

Freddy took tight corners by coach, racing through jagged turns as Alfred brooded next to him. The thought of introducing himself to Angier as one of a pair, which had felt unfathomable before his journey to the States, seemed meaningless compared with everything that had happened since. Would that mean Freddy had given up thoughts of their trick, knowing Angier would be aware of the secret? He turned to ask, but Freddy did not notice, accelerating forward.

The Great Danton's house was far more gaudy than proletariat, windows adorned with curtains which themselves seemed almost stage-like. The horses of the coach parked outside paced and neighed nervously, seemingly no more at ease there than the Bordens' own.

Freddy rapped on the door, stowing his bag under his good arm. Angier came to a moment later, in a rage. "You! I should have known you would have had something—" Only then did he take in Alfred, his gaze glancing down to Alfred's hands. "Back from my past to torment me twice over? What is this dream?"

"No dream," said Alfred. "We know about Julia. We want to help."

"We?" Angier said. "And I suppose you're responsible for Cutter's madness too?"

"Cutter?" Freddy snapped. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

"I think you're the one who should be answering questions."

Freddy bluntly spoke, without leaving the doorstep. How they'd come to share a name and a life. How Alfred had made a voyage in hopes of undoing some of the pain they'd caused. And how he had operated Tesla's machine.

"And Julia?" Angier went on.

"She's still by the creek," Freddy said. "I swam across, then made my way back, took me hours—"

Alfred cut him off. "I never knew what happened that night, Angier. I'm sorry."

"She was as brave as me," said Freddy. "She knew the risks, wanted to try something new anyway."

"I should kill you," Angier began.

"And then where would we be?" Alfred butted in. "With specters haunting the river and less of us to deal with them? Now you tell us what happened to Cutter."

"We were riding back just now, and I came across Julia, just as you described her—as much shade as woman. Cutter wouldn't believe me until he saw for himself, so he walked over, and then when she touched him he went silent too. Wouldn't say a word, and that's when I came back here."

"If they can kill—deaden—others that they touch...then it's no wonder Tesla was afraid, he hadn't figured it out yet. We ought to stop them before they run across passers-by," said Alfred.

"Stop them? How? And don't look at me like this is my job, you're the one who tried to exonerate yourself," Angier said.

"I never knew the Great Danton to back down from a challenge," said Freddy. "Not when commoners' well-being is at stake."

Angier looked back and forth between the two of their unrelenting stares. "We'll need to take your coach. Cutter's horses are drained."

They had several false alarms as they drew near. A few couples were skipping rocks along the river or even trying to fish, and despite Angier's keen eyesight insisting none of them were Julia, Alfred insisted on speaking to all of them to make sure they were able to respond.

"What would you do if they didn't?" Freddy said after the second such encounter.

"You're the one with the backup plan," Alfred pointed out, and Angier tugged on the reins once more.

"There," he finally said, without needing to approach. "That's them, Cutter too."

"Cutter?" Freddy called, his voice sharp. "You really got yourself tangled up in all this?"

Cutter made no reply. Freddy stepped down and raised his arm. "Just speak," Alfred began, "and come back with us."

There was only the briefest silence before Freddy shot his gun, piercing the taller silhouette in the leg. That drew Cutter's attention, but he was in no apparent pain; instead, he turned and walked forward.

"Get towards the river!" Angier called.

"That's where they are!" Alfred said.

"They won't follow!"

Freddy heeded the advice, sprinting at a diagonal away from Cutter, Angier steps behind. Alfred curled towards the opposite direction, well behind Julia, backing away as she turned uncertainly.

Freddy shot again, that time grazing Cutter's feet. It did nothing to dissuade him, and he veered towards them once more, though still avoiding the shore.

"That could have hit Julia," Angier protested.

"She's dead," Alfred called. "I don't know what that machine did to her, but she's not coming back."

"Well, it's still wasting our bullets."

"Since when have they been _our_ bullets?"

"Shut up," said Freddy, backing up and changing his angle. He shot once more, hitting Cutter in the chest. Again, the wound did not seem to hurt him, but the momentum knocked him backward, depositing him in the water. He floundered briefly, and did not rise again.

"Breath," said Alfred. "If they drown..."

"No," Angier said. "No, you monsters can't, not again—"

"And do what?" Alfred interrupted. "Leave more strangers to wind up like Cutter? For all we know it's already happened."

"We'd have seen," Angier began feebly, "on the road..."

"You wouldn't have," Freddy said, and shot. Julia's arm lurched at the shoulder, but she remained upright.

Freddy ran closer, trying to pin Julia between himself and the river. "You're too close," Angier called, but he ignored him, shooting again. Once more, it hit Julia with enough momentum to knock her back. But her flailing arm lashed out and brushed across his body as she fell.

He dropped the gun, as if he did not recognize it, and began walking back towards Angier. Angier, in turn, ran to seize the gun, and Freddy turned back towards the streets. "He's too far away," Angier called, "I can't shoot."

"Shoot what?" Alfred asked, refusing to answer his own question as he walked towards the coach.

"She must have killed him too."

"Come on, Freddy, Angier's seen enough for one day. Let's go home."

"Not easy, is it? Realizing they can't hear you," Angier taunted.

Alfred did his best to tune him out, tearing through the coach for anything that might be of use. Reins for the horses? The gloves he'd purchased hours before, in hopes of a symmetry yet to be broken? "It never came easy."

He exited and tried urging Angier onward, before he lost sight of Freddy entirely. "If I'm as emotional as you say, you may be the better shot."

" _We_ are nearly out of bullets," Angier echoed, "and corpse or man, he is not fool enough to return to the shore. Think what you will of me, I will not be another haunt emptying the city."

Before Alfred could answer, another shot had fired, and he whirled in the darkness to see if Freddy was somehow within range. But instead, Angier had slumped to the ground, the empty gun clattering at his side.

Grief and fear urged Alfred on, the semblance of a plan turning over and evaporating in his mind. He spun the rope from the reins—no magic, merely deftness of hand—and then hurled it forward, tripping Freddy and knocking him down. Even those touched by death were still vulnerable to the foibles of walking upright.

Hurrying forward, he put on the gloves and pulled the rope back, beginning to grapple with Freddy. So now you take risks, he imagined his twin would jeer, if he had any mind left.

 _What do I have to lose?_ Alfred questioned. _Fail, and at least we stay together._

 _What do you have to win? No one can ever know what you've done._

 _But they'll be themselves still, knowing what they please. Isn't that enough?_

He fought to subdue Freddy; the shade, merely to touch his skin, yet without much thought driving the latter's twists and flails Alfred could imagine getting the upper hand. _You still can't conceive of solitude._

 _You still can't conceive of togetherness,_ Alfred feared. _You weren't ready to wait for me to test the machine, were you? Still thinking of me as someone unwilling to contemplate risk. And so I became alone, after all. Which is why—_ he fumbled for the rope, turning and pulling it around what had once been his brother's neck— _I can still embrace sacrifice._

No time for knots, only a desperate chokehold until the corpse went still. Alfred barely had the strength of heart to stumble to the coach, guiding it towards a small and twice-as-hollow house before collapsing in sleep.

Only by the light of day did he return to the railyard, taking in the springs and strands of the grand machine. He picked it up, feeling its heft and the weight of all it had cost him.

Then at a run, he hurled it into the creek, and walked away without looking back.

* * *

Tesla's New York fire really did take place.


End file.
